


Work Life Balance and other mythical concepts

by mybrotherharry



Series: Just Another Steve with a Sassy Brunette Story [10]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Romance, Sam is Sick, Steve is injured, one naughty reference cause Sam has fantasies okay?, sam is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24961129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybrotherharry/pseuds/mybrotherharry
Summary: The State of the Union is in two weeks. Steve hasn't seen his boyfriend in two weeks. He would really like to stop competing with the President of the United States for a dinner partner, is what he's saying.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Sam Seaborn
Series: Just Another Steve with a Sassy Brunette Story [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1393501
Comments: 33
Kudos: 56





	Work Life Balance and other mythical concepts

**Author's Note:**

> I am beyond thrilled that people are reading this. Every single comment that I got saying "didn't consider this pairing ever. but I really like it" - that comment? that's what's making my day. I am a little behind on replies, but trust me, I am reading every single one.
> 
> Yes, I know Cathy is Sam's assistant, and Ginger is Toby's assistant in canon. But if I had a life motto, it's SCREW CANON, so. Yeah.
> 
> This fic has some squicky medical elements. There is nothing on screen, nothing canon-atypical. HAPPY ENDINGS, everything will be okay. If you don't mind spoilers but want to know the details of the squicky stuff, go to the end notes.

**White House Visitor's Entrance, Washington D.C.**

Julio is on duty at the visitor's entrance.

"Hey there, Cap," Julio smiles at him. "You doin' okay?"

"Hi Julio," Steve greets him, handing over his entry pass. "I am okay. You staying warm?"

"Trying to, Cap," Julio says. "You carryin' anything today?"

"Only lunch and coffee," Steve gestures with the Starbucks trays he's clasping in both hands, another bag hanging off his wrist. He picks up one cup off the tray and hands it to the man. "Here you go. One cream."

"Still can't get over Captain America bringing me coffee."

"No Captain America here," Steve laughs. "Just a guy trying to see his boyfriend. And bribing the Secret Service with coffee while he's at it."

"Thanks Cap," Julio says. "They haven't left in two days."

"Even CJ?"

"None of them."

"This is starting to get inconvenient," Steve mutters.

"What? The White House security protocol?"

"My boyfriend's workaholism. Serves me right for dating a high-profile man."

"Hey, aren't you an _Avenger_?"

"Sometimes," Steve laughs. "When aliens aren't invading, I am just a guy who wants to see his boyfriend."

"Go on in, Cap. You're all checked out. You want me to call ahead and tell Miss Ginger?"

"That's alright, Julio. Thanks!"

The communications bullpen is empty. Steve sidesteps all the rolled-up balls of paper, overflowing trash containers, and upturned chairs to make his way to the Roosevelt room. Sam told him this place always looks like a ransacked store during State of the Union season.

The Secret Service agent outside the Roosevelt room stops him. Steve's starting to know most of the agents on duty. They almost, always, to a one, remind him of Phil Coulson with the way they nearly blend in with the tapestry.

"Just a minute, Cap," Trent smiles at him, patting him down, avoiding Steve's open arms full of baked goods and coffee.

"He isn't expecting me. This is a coffee surprise sort of a situation."

"Sure," Trent says with a kind smile. He opens the door and lets Steve slip through, allowing him to stand close to the door, his back pressed to the wall. Steve decides to maybe just wait until Sam's done with doing whatever he is doing before he makes his presence known.

The room is packed with staffers sitting around the long table, laptops and legal pads open. There are three whiteboards set up, and Toby Zeigler is gesticulating wildly at the second one. He's arguing about something with Amy Gardner. (Steve met Amy the last time he tried to get some lunch into Sam. She'd sat on the arm of the couch in Sam's office and harassed Josh in a manner that strongly reminded Steve of Tony harassing Rhodey. He did notice the careful way in which Donna avoided looking at the two of them, though.)

Nobody told Steve about all the hangar-on lives you take on when you date someone seriously. Steve's weirdly invested in the lives of all of Sam's friends now. Sam is the same about the rest of the Avengers. They're both eagerly anticipating the announcement of Phil and Clint's engagement. That's _gotta_ happen sometime soon. Steve figures it would be nice to dance with Sam at a wedding.

Right now, Sam is sitting at the head of the table, ignoring both Toby and Amy. He seems focused on typing something on his laptop.

Steve recognizes his expression. Sam's on a roll and he won't wake out of his writing funk until all the words are down on paper.

He feels his stomach sink. Making up his mind, he quietly walks up to Larry.

"Oh, hey there, Captain," Larry brightens up. "Sorry, we didn't hear you come in."

"That's alright," Steve says quietly. "I brought coffees for everyone." He passes the tray to Larry, but keeps one of the cups along with the brown bag. "Have you seen Ginger?"

"Over there," Larry cocks his head toward the right. "I can probably drag him away from his laptop?" Larry asks, but there isn't much conviction in his voice.

"No, don't," Steve tells him. "He's been blocked for days. Let him finish. I'll drop this off with Ginger. She'll get it down his throat at some point."

"You know, Cap," Larry tells him seriously. "Anyone ever tell you you're husband material? Seaborn needs to put a ring on it before I give in to the urge."

Steve flushes, pleased. "Please don't say that in his earshot."

"Are you kidding? I know about his possessive streak."

Laughing his thanks, Steve hands over his goodies and goes to talk to Ginger with his one cup and the brown bag.

"Steve," she smiles warmly. "Hey, he didn't tell me you were coming!"

"That's because he didn't know," Steve says accepting her warm hug. "Can you make sure he eats lunch? I brought him the caramel mocha monstrosity he likes."

She takes the stuff off his hands. "Of course," she says. "Do you want to wait in his office? I can spring him for a few."

"That was my plan, originally," he admits. "But it looks like he's just started writing," he nods in Sam's direction. Sam is still bent over the laptop, completely oblivious. "I don't want to interrupt."

Ginger looks vaguely guilty. "Yeah," she says quietly. "He's been stuck. He's been stuck for days. Toby's not been very happy with what they produced up until yesterday. Honestly, it's a bit of a relief when Sam started writing in the way he does, you know?"

"You mean when he forgets the rest of the world exists until the last word is typed down?"

"Yeah," she laughs. "Shall I tell him you stopped by?"

"Please," Steve nods. "Make sure he eats and drinks. Whenever he emerges from the writing haze, would you - I dunno, just say I came over and if he could please call me -"

"I will. I promise."

"Thank you, Steve."  
*

**Office of the Deputy Director of Communications, The White House**

"Pick up. Pick up. Pick up." Sam mutters under his breath, his phone pressed to his ear.

"Sam," Ginger tells him. "He's probably INSIDE the high school that the neo-Nazis are holding hostage."

"Why does he always wade into these things when a nutjob is holding a big gun?" Sam mutters, redialing.

"Probably because he's holding a bigger, more colorful shield."

Sam slumps into his office chair, just exhausted. "You don't get it, Ginger," Sam says. "Steve gave his life for this country. He fought Nazis and put a plane down in the Arctic, knowing that he was going to die. Everything was fair as long as he could stop Nazis from bombing the Eastern seaboard. Now? He wakes up and he sees American citizens spouting Nazi ideology on CNN. Nazis marching in the streets, holding _kids_ hostage. What does that feel like to him?"

"I - I don't know."

"It's the same damn war over and over again," Sam puts his head in his hands. "Six decades in the ice, the world's moved on, but not really? We know you sacrificed your life for this, but here are a bunch of people who think the Nazis had the right idea?"

"I never thought of it that way," Ginger holds her notepad closer to her chest. "How it must seem to him."

"President Bartlet loves historical hypotheticals," Sam continues. "I hate them. I absolutely hate them."

"Hypothetical?"

"It's a famous thought experiment," Sam explains. "It probably _is_ a part of senior year curriculum for History majors, I dunno. Writing a paper on how the world would be different if the Allies had lost World War II. The Swastika hanging over the White House."

"That's - sick."

"Yeah," Sam says quietly. "Yeah." He dials again. "PICK UP, Steve. Oh God."

"CNN's still got it live."

"They're just showing the outside of the school, right? Can't watch that anymore. I'll go absolutely insane. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up."

"Sam, he's probably in the middle of combat right now. Stop blowing up his cell."

"I haven't seen him in two weeks," Sam throws his cell on the table and tugs at his hair in frustration. "Things have been so busy. I just - we were supposed to get dinner, and then he got called out, and then the thing with Senator Warcox blew up."

"He'll understand," Ginger says sympathetically.

"You should have told me."

"Hmm?"

"When he came by with coffee," Sam explains. "You should have told me."

"You were doing your zombie mode writing thing," Ginger says, her tone defensive. "He took one look at your face and told me not to bother you."

"Well, it wasn't his call, damn it. Ginger, you _have_ to tell me next time! I have been a terrible boyfriend this entire month and at this rate, I would be surprised if I don't die via dismemberment by the Winter Soldier."

"I didn't hear that, Jesus. Sam, there's an ongoing investigation."

"Right, you didn't hear that."

"I'll keep trying his cell, shall I?"

"Please."  
*

**SHIELD Barracks, Washington Control Center**

There is a neo-Nazi cult holding a high school in the Bronx hostage.

_Neo-Nazis._

On certain days, Steve can't believe he gave his life for his country and some people woke up a couple of decades later and decided to become Nazis.

When the school is secure, and the Nazis are in custody, he retrieves his cellphone from his pack to find eighty-nine missed calls.

Shaking his head, he dials.

"Hey Ginger," he greets.

"You're alright!"

"I am pretty sure CNN reported that an hour ago," Steve says down the line. "Is he okay?"

"I told him to call you yesterday," she says instead. "He was fighting with Toby about the last paragraph and got distracted."

"So what am I dealing with? Guilt?"

"With a side of ' _I am a terrible boyfriend_ ' and ' _you could have died_ '," Ginger says seriously.

Steve sighs. This was - they needed to _talk_ about this stuff, preferably _without_ using Ginger as a messenger. They really needed to talk about the complete mess Sam turned into when Steve went out on a mission.

"Can I talk to him?"

"He's in the Oval," Ginger says, sounding apologetic.

"Of course he is," Steve huffs. "Just tell him I called. My phone's not been charged in two days, so will you ask him to ring SHIELD and get through to me? I will ask an Agent to leave a number with you."

"I will tell him."

"Thanks, Ginger," he says. "You're the best."

"I know. I am going to try and get him to a phone, okay?"

"You do your best, I know," Steve sighs, hanging up.  
  
Steve stays at SHIELD overnight, anticipating a phone call.

It never comes, so he gives up and goes home to his empty apartment. An agent found him a charger back on base, so his phone is charged.

After a long, hot shower, he dries his hair and enters the bedroom. Sam's spare glasses are on the bedside table, resting on top of one of his hundreds of legal pads.

Steve thinks Sam possibly _exhales_ the stuff out. Every new space he enters, he seems to leave it with more legal pads lying around than before.

Steve picks up the glasses, folds them closed and then flips through the pad. Sam has a wonderful handwriting, legible and clear, always written with firm strokes.

The last three pages are full of crossed out lines, frustrated scribbles and a giant, diagonal red line across the page. Steve can see the exact point in the writing at which Sam gave up and decided to toss the pad.

He smiles, remembering how Sam can drive himself out of his mind when a particular sentence wouldn't come out correctly.

He sits down on the bed in his empty apartment, missing his lover, holding his discarded notes when the _realization_ hits him. It hits him, sinks into him with the weight of a heavy anvil.

This is it for him.

Sam is _it_.

If he has a future at all in this weird century, in this new fangled world where Bucky is impossibly _alive_ but different, where Steve's found himself a dysfunctional family of other screwed-up heroes, then in _this_ future, _Sam_ is the missing piece of the puzzle.

There's no version of this future that doesn't have Sam in it.

He reaches for his phone and dials.

"Hey Ginger," Steve greets.

"Sonofa -" she curses. "Don't tell me - he didn't call you last night."

"No," Steve frowns. "I figured he was busy."

"He was," Ginger admits. "But I gave him the SHIELD number that Agent Skye called in. I wrote it down on a post-it note and put it on his laptop so he would - _never mind_ ," Steve can hear her opening a door, her footsteps gentle, and he can hear another familiar sound in the background.

"Ginger," he says quietly. "He's snoring into his suit jacket on his office couch, isn't he?"

"Ye - yeah," she whispers.

"Come out of his office, Ginger," he requests. "Please."

"Yeah, okay," she says. It takes a moment, but Steve can hear when the door closes back with a gentle creak. Steve knows the sound of that creak. He's spent a lot of time waiting in Sam's office in the last month.

"Don't wake him up," he tells Ginger.

"I just wanna say," she laughs. "It's creepy how you know what it sounds like when he snores. Over a telephone line."

"It's when he's stuffed up," Steve says. He wants to laugh but he's feeling raw and vulnerable with the weight of recent relevations, and he's missing Sam like a severed limb, "It's probably why he didn't call me last night. He knows I would have figured it out and made him get some rest. Can you send someone out for Sudafed? I'll come by later with some soup."

"I was going to send him home today for a new suit," Ginger tells him. "But the President got the new draft of the speech last night."

Steve knows what that means.

"They will be rewriting it the _entire_ day," he says, his stomach sinking.

"Yeah," Ginger agrees.

"I can bring a change of clothes," Steve offers, even though his heart is breaking. "Anything else?"

"He was complaining about the lack of good quality pens in the White House."

"That's because he left his box of custom fountain pens in my apartment," Steve gets up and makes his way to the kitchen, opening the junk drawer to fnd the felt-lined box. "Who has custom fountain pens made?"

"I am guessing pretty boys who went to Princeton," Ginger laughs.

"I'll bring it in."

"Thanks, Steve," she says gratefully. "You're a lifesaver. I know it isn't easy doing this."

"I need to talk to Donna and figure out if it would be easier to simply become his assistant."

"I _definitely_ didn't hear that."

"No you didn't," Steve owns up. "Thanks, Ginger."

*

**Office of the Deputy Director of Communications, the White House**

Within the hour, Steve is outside Sam's office, carrying a dry-cleaner's bag, a container of hot chicken soup, cold meds along with the box of pens Ginger requested.

"He's been asleep for three hours," Ginger informs him, taking the dry-cleaners' bag off of him. "I was just about to go in and wake him. Glad you're here to do it instead."

Nobody wants to deal with waking Sam up. Steve understands the feeling. "Thanks," he quietly opens the office door.

Sam is conked out. That's the only way to describe it. He's lost to the world, his mouth slightly open, his glasses still on his face, lopsided. His suit jacket is rolled into a ball under his neck, and his shoes are still on his feet.

The man is a mess.

Steve loves him _so damn much_.

He sets the stuff on Sam's desk and silently kneels on the carpet in front of the couch. With a gentle hand, he brushes Sam's hair back from his forehead and pulls the glasses off his nose before they fall and break.

"Hey gorgeous," he whispers, pressing a soft silent kiss to Sam's open lips. "Wake up."

Sam groans incoherently.

"Yeah, I know," Steve smiles. "But you have a meeting. Wake up, darling."

"Don't feel good," Sam murmurs. Steve only catches it because he's leaning so close.

"I know baby," Steve undoes the buttons on Sam's shirt, loosening the tie, trying to get him a little cooler. His skin feels like it's burning up. "I brought soup. Get up, darling."

"Ste--Steeb?"

"It's me," Steve says.

Sam reaches out with uncoordinated hands to tug at Steve's dress shirt, fumbling with the buttons, pulling the tails out of his trousers.

"Missed oo," Sam whispers, and he still sounds so stuffed up and exhausted. "Do me, it's been ages," Sam continues like he _doesn't_ have the world's least attractive snotty cold. He pulls at Steve's shirt collar.

"Okay Romeo," Steve laughs. "Let's undress me later. Sit up, come on. You're sick."

"Could still blow your mind," Sam says, sitting up on the sofa, his eyes closed.

"I don't doubt it," Steve laughs, handing Sam the box of Kleenex.

Sam immediately pulls three out in succession and blows into them, sounding congested. He crumples them up and throws them down to the floor and pulls another tissue.

"Admit it," he groans. "I am bringing sexy back."

"You're handsome," Steve kisses his cheek. "Very sick, but also handsome."

"Just a cold."

"It was a cold six days ago when you stopped sleeping or eating, and now it's about to turn into the flu."

"I bet nobody's ever blown you inside the White House," Sam presses his lips to the side of Steve's neck. After a beat of silence, he pulls back to look up at Steve's face. "Right?" He looks really worried about the fact that someone else may have offered Steve oral sex in the White House.

Steve, who's laughing into a clenched fist, gives him a look of _such_ adoration that Sam starts laughing too.

"Okay, so I think I am a bit loopy," Sam admits. "Ginger gave me pills."

"Ginger gave you Sudafed," Steve corrects him. "The loopiness is probably the sleep deprivation."

"Probably," Sam agrees. "Sorry."

"Hmm?"

"Sorry about the Nazis."

"You know it's one of the first things people said to me when I woke up from the ice? Sorry about the Nazis."

"Sorry I didn't call you after the Nazis."

"I saw the eighty-nine missed calls, Sam," Steve says softly. "I think you called me enough."

"But when you were free, I got busy. And when I was free, you were fighting Nazis."

"It's kinda what I do."

"It's either Nazis or aliens or the _honest-to-God_ Taliban with you."

"That was _one_ time."

"Did you at least have fun punching Nazis?"

"Yeah," Steve pulls Sam to his feet and nudges him into the visitor's chair by the desk. "Did you freak out?"

"No, I am a sane and mature adult."

Steve gives him a sharp look. "Eat your soup," he says, setting the container and spoon in front of him. "And tell me. Seriously. Did you freak out?"

"Not as bad as the time with the Taliban," Sam admits, starting in on the soup. It is warm and spicy and bland and just feels amazing going down his throat. "It helped a little bit that CNN was covering every minute live."

"I don't want you staring at the news when things go down," Steve tells him seriously. "They don't usually have all the facts, and sometimes it looks worse on TV than it is."

"I prefer that to not knowing anything."

"Sam, sweetheart -"

"That's new," Sam smiles at him, all watery and warm and beautiful. "I like it."

Steve flushes red. "What? Sweetheart, you mean?"

"Yeah," Sam ducks his head down, suddenly shy.

"You sure you wouldn't prefer honeybunches?"

"I'll kill you, Rogers, don't you dare," Sam laughs but leans into the kiss Steve presses against his lips.

"Eat your soup," Steve orders again. "I brought medicine, and your pens are in here somewhere." He rummages through the bag, trying to sort out the stuff he brought over.

"I am really sorry about not calling though," Sam says again. "Things got crazy around here."

"I figured it was something like that when I saw the President's speech that night about rising above the things that divide us and looking for common ground. About how divisions based on race or skin color or gender have kept this nation from being the best it could be for far too long. About how it is time to march toward a more perfect union."

Sam flushes, pleasure thrumming through his veins. "You watched the speech?"

"I did," Steve nods. "It was very uplifting. I recognized the writer. He must be a visionary."

"I'll be sure to tell Toby you said that."

"I am sure Toby wrote a lot of it," Steve smiles. "But those parts? Those were you."

Sam hooks a finger through the belt loop on Steve's slacks and pulls him closer, pressing his face against Steve's abdomen. "I like that you can tell which parts I wrote in the speech."

"I do too," Steve leans down to drop a kiss into Sam's hair. "I was at SHIELD that night, and we were all in the lounge watching on the TV. I figured you didn't call me because you'd just written two speeches in two days."

"More like sixteen speeches in two days," Sam murmurs. "The President picked one and that became the _don't be a Nazi_ speech. Can't believe the President had to ask people to please not be a Nazi."

"Tell me about it," Steve says miserably.

Sam shakes his head like he's trying to clear it. "Right, who am I talking to? Of course, you get it. It must be really horrible for you, huh?"

"I do okay," Steve smiles at him. "Listening to the speech helped."

Sam's frown turns sad. "The State of the Union is still up in the air."

"I am sure you'll lock that down soon," he sighs. "I miss you."

"I kinda want to say 'to hell with it' and just go home with you," Sam says quietly. "Just us, in our bedroom, no work, no missions, no Toby."

"I don't think Toby's ever been in our bedroom," Steve points out. "At least, I hope not?"

"He is going to be in my _head_ until the speech is finished. But we won't think about that when I have got you naked in my bed. Think of all the things we could do if we went home right now."

Home is a weird concept for the two of them. They use the term interchangeably to refer to both Sam's place or Steve's, depending on which one has fewer reporters camped out outside of it. Steve's been eager for a conversation about moving in together but he's waiting for the State of the Union to be over.

He won't get Sam's full attention before that anyway.

"We could get a full night's sleep," Steve suggests. "We could sleep in. We could have brunch at two in the afternoon."

Sam groans. "Oh god, don't tempt me."

The moment's broken when Steve's phone goes off loudly.

He pulls it out and sees that it's a call to assemble.

"Damn it," he swears but answers the phone. "Rogers."

Sam watches him morph from his goofy boyfriend into Captain America. His posture gets a little straighter, his chin a little stiffer and the fingers of his left hand are clenching the way they do around the straps of the shield.

Knowing what's coming, Sam puts his head in his hands. "I can't believe I jinxed it."

"Extraction's going to be a little complicated," Steve is saying at the same moment when Agent Trent walks into the office.

"Mr. Seaborn, we're crashing the West Wing. Please stay put until we instruct you otherwise," Agent Trent announces, ducking to look under Sam's desk like he's waiting to see... well, Sam really doesn't know Agent Trent is looking for.

He turns his attention back to Steve.

"Yeah, I am in the White House," Steve is saying into the phone. "Inside the White House. Maria, damn it, I am in the West Wing, and they just called a code. I don't think the Secret Service is going to like SHIELD landing a chopper on the South Lawn. I mean, I can ask Joseph Trent and tell you, he's right here, but I am guessing they have a rule about chopper landings. Right, Trent?"

Trent nods solemnly.

"He says the South Lawn's out."

Sam turns away from Steve to look at Trent. "Please tell me that whatever's caused this crash has _nothing_ to do with the Assemble order Steve just got."

"I don't have that information, Mr. Seaborn."

"Join the club, Trent," Sam mutters and goes back to his soup. His life is getting stranger every day.

When Steve finally gets off the phone, he does so with a heavy sigh.

"Okay, so Maria Hill's calling Ron Butterfield. I have to go. Ginger!"

Ginger (who never comes so quickly when Sam calls for her, but sure, when Steve Rogers shows up with soup, the world stops spinning for a few minutes) sticks her head in through the door. "Yeah?"

"Can you make sure he takes his pills? And stays hydrated? I have a mission."

"Okay," she says.

"I am right here, you know," Sam grumbles.

"I know," Steve kisses him again, soft and sweet. "I left you a new suit with Ginger. Take care of yourself for me?"

"I promise," Sam pulls Steve down by his shirt and whispers into his ear. "If you come back safe and sound from your mission, I'll blow you in the Roosevelt Room."

Steve flushes and looks at Sam like he can't believe -

"So you better come back safe and sound," Sam says seriously. "Not so much as a papercut, you hear me?"

"Safe and sound," Steve promises. "Love you."

"Love you, too."  
*  
**Camp David, Maryland  
  
**"Do you know the last time a chopper that wasn't Marine One landed on the South Lawn?" CJ asks him nine hours later at Camp David.

Sam's been continuously running through the events of the previous nine hours in his head. An alien portal has opened in the middle of DC. Another one has opened over China's Guangzhou province. The Secret Service evacuated the President and VP to the bunker nine hours ago. The rest of the senior staff (sans Josh and Leo) got sent to Camp David.

SHIELD's called in the Avengers. The world is looking at a possible invasion. Sam's got a hundred and three-degree fever. Sam's boyfriend had leaped onto a SHIELD chopper nine hours ago and hasn't been heard from since.

Considering all of this, Sam can't believe he still needs to write a speech about the state of the _damned_ union. The state of the union is pretty clearly visible to anyone who turns on CNN.

"I really don't know, CJ," Sam admits, his focus centered on draft nineteen of version three of the _speech_.

"It's never happened before," CJ informs him. "For the first time ever, they allowed a US intelligence agency aircraft to land on the South Lawn."

"They didn't technically land," Sam tells her.

"Sure, they hovered a bit," CJ continues. "Didn't know Captain Rogers could leap _that_ high. He must be fun at parties with flexibility like that."

"I wouldn't know, would I? Considering how I have never gone to a party with him. Given how the two of us have crazy work schedules. Tell me, is this why you and Danny never tried?"

"Nah," she shrugs. "That was more down to the conflict of interest. Plus the fact that he keeps leaving for months at a time trying to win his third Pulitzer."

"Yeah, how dare he," Sam deadpans.

"I've told myself that love can happen once I am out of the White House," CJ admits. "I can't imagine accommodating something else while also serving at the pleasure of the President, you know what I mean?"

"I think I do," Sam admits, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

He wants to deny it, is the thing. He wants to argue that it's possible to have a lover and a West Wing office at the same time. That it's possible to be _in love_ and also stay at work for eighteen, twenty hours a day.

But his boss lost his marriage to this job, his best friend is an idiot who can't do anything about the love of his life until one of them is promoted, and Sam's dating a man who's probably one of the very few people in the world with a schedule more unpredictable than his.

"It's hard," Sam confesses in a quiet voice. "But he's worth it. He brought me soup."

"And also a clean suit," CJ gestures at what he's wearing. "The man has an eye for color. Brings out your eyes."

"It does?"

"I think he likes this suit on you."

"I am going to keep him," Sam tells her. "I am going to hang on to him for as long as he would let me, because. Well. Just because."

"He's going to be okay, Sam."

"I know."

"Anyway," CJ smiles, getting up to do the briefing via teleconference, "a possible alien invasion, national security hanging by a thread, plus the State of the Union around the corner. Guess what the first question will be at the gaggle today?"

"When was the last time a chopper other than Marine One landed on the South Lawn?"

"Ding ding ding, we have a winner."  
  
*  
Iron Man and Captain America have a loud and fierce argument in the middle of a DC street while strange creatures pour down from above.

An intern turns the volume down when she sees Sam put his head between his knees, trying to breathe.  
  
*  
  
Josh calls him twice in the next hour.

"Three speeches," he says. "Something unifying, intended to give people hope that the world put up a united front against a common enemy. Thanking the Avengers for serving their nation and the planet."

"Alright," Sam says. "Next?"

"A doomsday speech," Josh says. "Avengers lost, but that the President and the machinery of UN Security Council is still in charge, still fighting the crisis. That it is not time to panic yet."

Sam swallows, willing the contents of his stomach to stay down. "And the third?"

"I am not sure yet. Standby for that one," Josh tells him. "Fitzwallace is here and they're starting another briefing."

"How's the President?"

"Seems calm," Josh tells him. "Leo's with him. And Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"The Avengers are reporting directly to Fury," Josh tells him. "Fury's been briefing the President. They are all fine. No injuries yet, but everything's a work in progress."

"Okay, thanks," Sam says gratefully. 

They hang up. Toby looks at Sam and orders, "You write the first speech. I'll write the second one."

Sam is so grateful that he decides to risk dismemberment and clasps Toby in a tight hug.  
  
*  
**Camp David, Maryland  
  
**One of the best ideas Sam ever had was to program JARVIS' contact on his cellphone.

"Talk to me, Jarvis, please, before my head explodes," he begs.

"Captain America, Winter Soldier, and Black Widow are aboard the Aesaha ship."

"Aesa - you mean the alien space ship that was floating over DC and vanished suddenly three hours ago?"

"Yes," JARVIS states calmly. "I have reason to believe the ship hasn't left our solar system."

"Well isn't that a relief," Sam squeaks out, aware of how high his voice is.

"All three of them are wearing custom Stark subdermal transmitters," JARVIS continues. "I am monitoring the signal."

"The portal?"

"Mr. Stark is working on something with Stephen Strange."

"The neurosurgeon?"

"I am told he is also the Sorcerer Supreme," JARVIS says plainly as though he were stating the weather.

"Let me get this straight," Sam whispers into the phone, looking around him, making sure he's not being overheard inside the janitor's closet he locked himself in, "My boyfriend got on an alien spaceship with his best friend from 1945 and the Black Widow. You don't know where they are or what they're doing, but are certain they are in our solar system. Tony Stark is working with a street magician who used to be a neurosurgeon on closing the alien portal that's open over the Lincoln Memorial."

"That's a succinct summary of today's events."

"My life used to be normal, JARVIS. I miss that."

"I believe you were the staffer who wrote a press release about the time the Leader of the Free World rode his bicycle into a tree, Mr. Seaborn."

"Okay, my life used to be _relatively_ normal."

"Fair enough."

"Please let me know if anything changes?"

"I will. If it's alright, I could add you to the Avengers S.O. group chat?"

"There's a group chat?"

"Yes. Also a spa day and support group."

"I thought Pepper was kidding about that."

"Not about spa day. Never about spa day. One moment please," Jarvis says, and Sam's phone lights up with the notification.  
  
*  
Six hours into a lull in the fighting, when even CNN is tired of showing the debris footage from the initial confrontation, Sam's phone rings.

"Steve," he breathes, fighting for calm. "Steve, where are you? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, baby, I am okay. Breathe for me," Steve's voice sounds reassuring, even though there's a hint of exhaustion there that he isn't hiding very well.

"I am breathing. I am calm, I promise you, I am the calmest one here," Sam knows he sounds hysterical but he can't help it.

"Where's ' _here_ '? Wait, are you allowed to even tell me? I don't know if I have security clearance."

"You are leading a team of six people against an alien army, trying to defend this planet. I don't give a damn about your security clearance. We're at Camp David. In Maryland. In the United States. On Earth. Please tell me you are on Earth."

"How far out do you think Stark phones get reception? Of course, I am on earth! Who told you I wasn't on earth?"

"Jarvis."

"Damn it," Steve says. "Honey, I didn't want to scare you. He shouldn't have told you that."

_Honey._

Steve's never called him honey before. Sam really wants to hear it again.

"Can't help it now. He added me to a group chat that has Jane Foster in it. I am finding out all kinds of things about your team. Did you know Thor isn't circumcised?" Yep, Sam is _definitely_ having a mental breakdown.

"I did know that," Steve says, and Sam's happy to hear him sound lighter. "There was a shared decontamination shower thing once."

"You've seen Thor naked and you _still_ choose to sleep with me?" Sam is frankly stunned. He's flattered. He's going to be smug about this for weeks.

"I prefer you, baby," Steve says breathily. "Are you feeling better?"

"Huh?"

"Your cold?"

 _Unbelievable_ , this man.

"Steve, worry about the alien invasion. My cold is fine. I am pretty sure Ginger slipped some cocaine into my coffee."

"I am not sure you would be able to tell the difference," Steve laughs. "I think your coffee is toxic."

Sam misses him so much. He wants Steve to hold him through this. He doesn't want Steve to go and take on an army.

"Steve, why are you not here? I want you here."

"I know, baby," Steve says. "I am back on Earth. Tony'd rigged us up a device. Something like a teleportation whiz -"

"Like BEAM ME UP SCOTTY?! This is the weirdest day."

"Sam."

"Right, sorry, go on."

"Anyway," Steve says. "We went on a fact-finding mission, trying to figure out what they wanted. Fury's briefing the President now. I am calling cause I didn't want you to worry if you saw something on TV. We're probably going to engage in a couple of hours."

"You're going to fight again?"

"They will. The first engagement was sort of a scouting unit. We want to keep it on Earth," Steve says unhappily. "Anyway, none of that's important. I am calling to ask you to not watch, okay? We don't know where it's going to go down, but we probably won't be able to avoid TV cameras. Please don't watch. Stay with Toby. Or take your meds and go to sleep. But don't watch, okay?"

"Stop worrying about me, Steve," Sam scolds him. "God, you're the one fighting aliens. I can handle watching you fight. It's - I will be fine."

"Don't make me call CJ."

"Steve, be careful. Please be careful."

"I will," Steve says determinedly. "I love you."

"I love you too," Sam swears. "I love you so much. Win. Come back safe and I will blow you in the Roosevelt Room."

"I am really looking forward to that."

"I knew it," Sam says, wiping off his tears with the back of his hand. "Come back to me soon."

"Sweetheart, please don't cry."

"I am not," Sam lies. "I won't ogle your ass on CNN, okay? I promise. You stop worrying about me and focus on those aliens."

"I will. I love you, baby."

"Love you too."  
  
*  
When Sam wants something done, he tells CJ.

Before the two-hour mark is up, CJ has managed to scrounge through three offices at Camp David and come up with some AV equipment.

Sam's sitting on the floor, with his back pressed to the wall in the huge dining hall. The hall's been converted to a makeshift lounge with couches and armchairs moved into it for the staff to converge. Ed and Larry are setting up a huge television against the other wall.

Sam ignores the noise around him, pulling up his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

"Okay, I have earmuffs," CJ rushes in with a box, "These are supposed to be noise canceling. I found a dark blue ribbon for your eyes. Unless you wanted the First Lady's eye mask."

"I definitely don't want the First Lady's eye mask," Sam shudders.

"What... are you two doing?" Toby asks, sliding to the floor beside Sam.

"Sam promised Captain America he wouldn't watch any of the news coverage of the fight," CJ explains.

"Why'd you do that?" Toby asks, aghast. "You're going to end up watching the news and then feel guilty about lying to your boyfriend."

"I won't!"

"Sam."

"I found a loophole," Sam says, returning the headphones back to CJ. "I can't watch the coverage, he didn't say I couldn't hear it."

"Cause that's so much better," CJ rolls her eyes. "Sam, you're going to drive yourself insane."

"I am there already, CJ," Sam argues. "If I don't know what's going on, I will - I dunno, I just need to know he's okay."

Toby and CJ exchange a silent look. Something passes between them, and then CJ seems to nod in agreement. She sits down beside Sam on his other side, takes the midnight blue ribbon, and wraps it over his eyes.

"Be good, Samuel."

"It's starting," Ed calls. CJ takes Sam's hand in hers and lets him hold on.  
  
*  
  
"Okay, what's happening?"

"You're cutting off the circulation to my arm is what you're doing," CJ curses. "Sam, _ow, ow, ow!_ "

*  
  
"I think it's some kind of bait and switch," Toby is saying. "Larry, cut to MSNBC, they've got a chopper in the air."

"Toby, can you spot him?"

"He's saying something to Hawkeye."

"They're both on the roof?"

"No, Barton's clinging to the side of the National Shrine. Steve's on the sloped roof."

"President's gonna be real mad if they break the Basilica."

"I think the President will forgive them if they save the planet from being invaded."  
  
*  
"Don't you think it's a little ridiculous?" Sam asks, his head buried on his knees.

"You need to stop tugging at your hair and drink some water," Ginger tells him, sitting on the floor in front of him.

"I just think," Sam mumbles into his legs, "that after the last invasion, we should have realized sending six people to fight an army is a little ridiculous."

"They won last time," Toby points out.

"Only cause Tony Stark carried a nuke into outer space and made it back before Steve closed the portal," Sam sobs. "Oh, and a giant green monster caught him."

"What's your point?"

"That these people have no sense of self-preservation and I can't believe we trust them with the fate of the planet."

"The Security Council probably has a Plan B," CJ says, rubbing his back.

"Yeah, nuking the city."

"Sam."

"My boyfriend's in charge of saving everybody," Sam says.

"Yeah."

"I won't even let him use my toaster oven cause he keeps starting fires with it. He's set off the smoke alarm twice."

"Yeah, you've said."

"He's a giant goof who cries at Disney movies."

"He's also a national icon, Sam."

"God, don't remind me."  
  
*  
  
"Barnes is down," Toby tells him.

"What?" Sam's heart is in his throat.

"He got between Captain Rogers and an alien weapon."

"Damn it, Steve!"

"It's okay, Stark's lifted Barnes out. Captain is assisting the Widow with something now."

"Sam, you're doing it again," CJ complains. "Ow! Ow! Ow!"  
  
*  
  
"What's happening?"

"Ask me that one more time, I swear to God, I will make you eat your tie."

"CJ, I liked you a lot better before you gave in to your latent violent tendencies."

"They aren't very latent anymore."

"I agree."  
  
*  
  
"They're showing the same footage over and over again," CJ says, pressing a mug of tea into Sam's hands. "Drink this."

"I might throw it back up. Not a good idea."

"Drink it anyway," Toby urges. "Something's probably going down. If press cameras are staying behind the perimeter, what does that tell you?"

"The poor schmuck who got stuck with camera duty decided to grow a couple of brain cells and got the hell outta dodge?" Larry suggests.

"No," CJ clarifies. "It means one of the Avengers asked them to stop broadcasting battle strategy."

"I don't think aliens on that spaceship are watching CNN, do you?"

"There's nothing else that's good on daytime TV, they might as well," Toby says, his voice lacking all inflection.

"Toby."

"Stop worrying, Sam. I am sure it's fine."  
  
*  
  
"What do they look like? Sam asks, lying on his side on the cold floor, his cheek pressed to the hardwood.

"Oh, very handsome despite all the dust and debris they're covered in."

"Not the Avengers," Sam huffs, knowing Ginger's just messing with him. "The aliens."

"They look like the same ones who attacked New York."

 _The Chitauri_ , Sam remembers. He'd not been allowed to read the briefing, but Steve talks in his sleep. Steve screams into a pillow when he has nightmares. And the Chitauri make regular appearances.

"They seem better prepared," Toby points out.

"You'd have to be, right?" Sam asks. "If you're planning to attack the same planet twice."

"We're better prepared too," CJ says. "Area was evacuated within the first half-hour. No civilians in the line of fire this time."

"That's good," Sam breathes a sigh of relief. Steve can focus on the battle better if he isn't worried about an idiot with a cameraphone getting in the way. "Anything on Barnes?"

"MSNBC had footage of him being moved to a medical tent. Nothing else," CJ says. "But if Captain America doesn't seem ruffled, Barnes can't be in too much danger."

 _You don't know him_ , Sam can't say. _You don't know how good Steve is at tamping down on what he's feeling to get the job done._

"Falcon's back in the air," Toby narrates. "Stark's creating - he's setting something up."

Sam claws at the pillow that Ginger had found for him and pulls it over his head, letting it muffle all sounds and noises, just trying to breathe through the stress.

"Sam, why don't you go inside and get some sleep?"

"You think I will be _able_ to sleep?"

"Worth a shot," CJ says. "What does that look like to you?" She asks Toby.

"Like - like that portal in New York," Toby answers her.

"What's going on?" Sam asks.

"Stark and Strange are doing something," Toby says. "They are creating a portal over the Washington Monument."

"Not Banner?"

"Banner is smashing right now."

"Right."

"What's the point of opening the portal? How are they going to get all the aliens through it?" CJ says.

"Not to mention the gigantic spaceship floating up there," Ginger points out.

"Toby," Sam says.

"Your guy is fighting the big alien."

"Big?"

"He is the one wearing the blue amulet I told you about," Toby explains. "I think he's the guy in charge."

"Or girl," Ginger says. "Don't be sexist, Toby."

"Can we forget about alien gender studies and worry about my boyfriend? Why is he engaging the guy-in-charge alone?"

"I think he's meant to be the distraction," Toby says.

"The bait, more like," Ginger mutters, but not too quiet that Sam can't hear her.

"Ginger!" CJ admonishes. "Sam, he's holding his own. Don't worry."

"Give me back my pillow."

CJ puts the pillow back over his head. He pulls it down tightly over his face, covering his ears.

"Shouldja let me give you the headphones."

The room collectively gasps.

Sam's heart thuds loudly against his ribs. "What was that?"

"Stark did something. The ship's moving toward the portal but the amulet guy's realized what they're doing."

There's more shouting in the room.

"Cap's engaging," Toby tells him. "I think Cap's trying to stop amulet guy from getting to Stark. Strange is holding the rest of them back. Did you know magic is real now?"

"He's a sorcerer. Sort of. I dunno. What's Steve doing?"

"Still fighting the - oh God."

"Toby," Sam cries. "Toby. Tell me. Please."

"He's - erm, Cap is holding him back."

"The amulet guy?"

"Cap's taking a beating, but the amulet guy is pinned down. Whatever Stark's doing must be important. Barton's assisting Cap now."

Sam would prefer the Widow to watch Steve's back. If Barnes isn't around, then Natasha should be by his side. Sam would prefer if the National Guard stood between Steve and the leader of an alien army. Where the hell did the _Fantastic Four_ go every time aliens invaded?

"Where's Natasha?"

"She was hurt before, remember? They evacuated her."

First Barnes, then Natasha. The Avengers are taking more casualties than last time. Sam tries to concentrate on his breathing, trying to clasp onto the pillow with all his might, trying to block everything out -

_Steve will be okay. Steve survived the world war. Steve will come back home._

"Barton's down," Toby says. "Or he's just been - Cap's pulling him back. And... they're arguing, oh -"

The room erupts in shouts and groans.

"Who's hurt?

"Barton," Toby says gently. "Cap's back at the amulet guy now."

"The ship's reversing out of the portal."

"It's that big one that's controlling the ship, I think. He really doesn't like Stark motioning the ship through the portal. He's angry now."

"Oh, this isn't good," CJ is muttering. "This is very bad."

"Ginger, try CNN again? The feed's terrible on this one."

Maybe it's the change in the network. Maybe it's the fact that the room around Sam _suddenly_ goes sharply quiet. Maybe it's the way Toby is gripping Sam's hand. But Sam knows something's _wrong_.

"What happened?"

"Sam, stay calm, okay. The ship's nearly gone through the portal. Cap just needs to hold off the amulet guy for a few more minutes."

"Why is everyone quiet if things are good?"

"It's nothing," Toby says. "They're - the ship's gone through the portal and -"

"Toby!" Sam shouts. "Just tell me!"

"Why aren't they closing the portal?" Sam hears someone call. "The ship's wrapped up!"

"I think Stark wants to send the remaining... creatures," CJ answers.

"What happened to Steve?" Sam asks again. "Someone just tell me! Is he okay?"

The room is still worryingly quiet.

With a horrible sense of foreboding, Sam sits up on the floor, throws off the pillow, and reaches for the blindfold.

"Sam, don't!" Toby yells, grabbing Sam's wrist. "I will tell you. Okay? Just - listen."

"You're killing me, Toby."

"I think Cap was trying to keep the amulet guy from getting to Stark," Toby says. "He - erm, he got stabbed a little."

The blindfold is wet against Sam's lashes. He doesn't care.

"What does that mean?"

"The alien's got a sword thing."

"A sword."

"Cap's abdomen," Toby says. "He's hurt. He's bleeding from his thigh too. Hard to tell with the darker uniform. He looks - he's still up on his feet though."

"The alien ran Steve through with a sword," Sam says flatly, trying to make the words make sense. "And Steve's still fighting him."

"Yeah."

"This is a nightmare, right? I am going to wake up any minute."

"Yeah, Sam. Any minute. Lie back down," Toby says. He puts a hand on Sam's shoulder and pushes him to the floor, letting him curl up with the pillow under his cheek. "It's okay."

"Is he - he got Barnes out. And then Natasha. They take them to the tent when someone's hurt, right? Why aren't they evacuating him? They gotta - I dunno, they gotta help him, right Toby?"

"I think whatever they're doing right now is going to end the battle, Sam."

"Someone else can end the battle," Sam mutters. "Why - where's Thor? Why isn't Thor fighting the amulet guy?"

"Thor is in China, remember? There's a ship that landed there? He's dealing with that."

"Well, then the HULK SHOULD FIGHT! Steve's hurt! They have to help him! Toby, he -"

"It's over, Sam!" CJ says from beside him as the room erupts in cheers.

"What?"

"Captain Rogers pulled the amulet off the creature thing, and all the remaining ones just dropped. Like their strings got cut."

"Oh God," Sam groans. "It's really over?"

"It is," CJ says. "Stark's closing the portal."

Sam tries to untie the blindfold.

"Don't," CJ stops him. "You don't need to see this. Cap's injured."

"I need to - stop, CJ. I can handle it."

He's wrong.

The feed is of poor resolution. The camera work is shaky, like the cameraman is running on rough ground. But it's enough for Sam to see Steve's pale face, to see him press a hand to the gaping wound on his side to stem the gushing blood. There's a sword sticking through him.

The white and blue of his suit is invisible under the red.

Sam doesn't know how he is still standing.

Steve on the screen starts to stumble, starts to fall to the ground. Sam is on his feet, reaching out with an extended hand trying to catch him just as red metal arms surround Steve's torso, just as Iron Man lifts Steve off the floor and takes off in the air.

CJ puts her arms around Sam's waist, holding him to her chest.

"He will be okay."

Three hours later, Sam's being loaded into a SHIELD chopper.

"The Avengers asked for you to be brought in," Agent Trent says from beside him.

"Is he okay?"

"We will know more once we get there," Trent says instead. "GW Hospital."

*  
**George Washington University Hospital, Washington D.C.**  
  
Sam's rushed into a secure medical ward the minute they land. He's taken into a private room and is greeted by Tony Stark.

"There you are."

"Where is he?" Sam asks, having no patience for Stark today.

"Listen to me."

"How is he? It looked like he lost a lot of blood. Is it the sword? Did they - oh God, please don't tell me it's still IN HIM -"

"Listen to me, Seaborn -"

"Why the hell did you let him take on that - thing, the creature - alone -"

"SEABORN!"

Sam falls silent and really looks at Tony.

He looks exhausted. He's wearing the tight under armor but it's still smoking in places. His right hand is taped in thick, heavy-looking bandage, and the left side of his face is turning a dark purple.

"Are you okay?"

"It's been a long day," Tony admits. "Sit. The medical team will be here in a minute."

Sam takes the chair Tony points to.

Stephen Strange walks in with a couple of other doctors just as Sam starts to ask Tony about Steve.

"You must be the boyfriend," Strange says, immediately rubbing Sam the wrong way. "This is Dr. Nell. Dr. Lee here is Captain Roger's surgeon."

"I operated on him after the Insight incident," Dr. Lee offers Sam a hand to shake.

"How is he?" Sam asks instead, hoping to get an answer out of _somebody_.

"We administered first aid, and he was given treatment upon arrival here. He seemed to be recovering well after the wounds were stitched up."

Sam looks at Tony who's both uncharacteristically quiet and staring at the tabletop.

"That means they removed the sword, right?" he asks. " _Right_?"

Tony nods, his eyes distant. Sam catches on.

"What do you mean, he 'seemed to be recovering?'"

"From what we know about the serum, we know that when Captain Rogers is stabbed, cleaning the site, stopping the bleeding, and closing him up is usually enough."

" _Usually_ , because _of course_ he's been stabbed before."

Tony snorts, meeting Sam's eyes.

"Understatement, yes, I get it. What's the problem this time?"

"An hour later, he started throwing up blood."

The room spins around Sam. Strange grabs a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and hands it to him.

"He started showing symptoms resembling what we would see in an individual with radiation sickness," Strange explains.

"What do you mean? You said he should heal on his own, right? Is it failing? The serum?"

"Our initial scans didn't catch it, but Mr. Stark's AI took a closer look."

"JARVIS?"

"Yeah," Strange answers. "The surface of the alien blade was coated with a non-terrestrial material. Stark?"

"It's emitting radiation," Tony says, and the bottom drops out of Steve's world. "Jarvis was able to identify it only cause I have him running _everything_. We know not to make assumptions with alien tech. He was looking for everything. That's the only reason we found it."

"I don't understand. The sword was coated with it?"

"Yes," Dr. Lee answers. "Something toxic. It disintegrated when it made contact with his blood."

"What's that mean?"

"They think he's got bits of alien metal in and around the wound site," Tony says simply, meeting Sam's eyes.

"Alien metal," Sam's mouth is dry around the words.

"His body is trying to heal around it," Dr. Lee explains. "But something about the nature of the material isn't allowing it to happen. We didn't find it when we closed him up the first time cause we couldn't see it."

Strange cuts in, "Stark's just rigged up a custom radiogram tuned to the frequency of the radiation the metal's putting out. With JARVIS's aid, our surgeon Dr. Lee should be able to visualize the region. We go in and extract the foreign bodies."

Sam is missing something.

"Why aren't you doing it, then?"

Strange exchanges a look with Stark.

"Do you need medical power of attorney? We never talked about that, I dunno who's his usual next of kin. I don't care, it's probably Barnes. But Barnes was injured too, right?" Sam asks Tony.

"He's sleeping it off," Tony explains. "He's in another ward with Nat."

"Is she -"

"Broken arm, dislocated shoulder, concussion. Barton's with them."

"Right," Sam turns back to Strange, unable to muster any energy for the rest of Steve's team right now. He will feel guilty about it later, but if he stops thinking about Steve for even a second, he's going to lose it. "If power of attorney is the problem, I don't know what you need me to do. Just do the surgery. Do you want me to sign something saying we won't sue?" He is at the absolute end of his rope. "I can get you a note from the President. Please, just - help him."

"That's not the problem."

"Then what the hell is it? Why aren't you scrubbing in this very instant instead of standing here talking to me? What are you not telling me?"

"Captain Rogers is awake."

"Okay? I want to see him, but I really think the surgery is more important right now if he's throwing up blood."

"No, Sam, listen," Stark says. "We can't put Steve under for the surgery. His body burns through the drugs."

"What?"

"You know how Steve can't get drunk? The same principle. We can't put him under for the surgery."

The pieces fall into place painfully in Sam's mind and he envisions the horror of lying open on an operating table while someone tears you open and looks around for pieces of metal -

"NO."

"Told you he would take it well," Stark rolls his eyes at Lee.

"He's endured it well before," Dr. Nell says and Sam wants to punch him.

"Before?" Because _of course,_ they have operated on Captain America before without putting him under first, _of course,_ this is _not_ the first time someone's cut his boyfriend open and played _where's waldo_ with his body -

"It was a quick procedure after the mess in DC," Dr. Nell says. "Just retrieving a couple of bullets and closing the wound. This is going to be longer."

Sam turns to Tony.

"You must have _something!_ " Sam demands. "You plan for everything!"

"I am not a biochemist."

"Your best friend is! Where's Banner?"

"Still Hulked out," Stark answers. "And yes, we did prepare a few trial versions of a drug that could knock him out, but none were successful. I was going to get back to working on it as soon as the thing with Extremis was done, but aliens invaded."

"So you've got nothing."

"I am sorry, Seaborn," he sounds exhausted, and Sam can't even get mad at him with a clear conscience.

"It's inhumane," Sam tugs at his hair in frustration. "You can't - I can't imagine. It's torture!"

"Right now, leaving the debris inside him is doing a lot of damage. We have already wasted three hours trying to identify the substance and coming up with the scanner to visualize the site of injury. We need your help."

"What the hell can I do? I am not a doctor."

"Captain Rogers has already consented to the procedure," Lee says.

 _Of course_ , he did! The idiot wouldn't recognize self-preservation if it danced naked in front of him.

"Dr. Strange can use magic to keep him still," Lee keeps talking, and Sam likes every word out of his mouth less and less. "The Captain can easily break medical restraints if agitated, so the magic can keep him still on the table."

"You mean it will paralyze him," Sam reads between the lines. "He won't be able to move."

"It's a disquieting experience even if one's told about it beforehand," Strange says with a nod. "However, it's important that we distract him during the procedure."

"Distract him?"

"The surgeons need to focus," Strange explains. "This is exploratory surgery. This takes time. But we're going to go as fast as we can. Humanity dictates that anything less would be wanton cruelty."

"We don't like it either, Mr. Seaborn," Dr. Nell argues. "This is the opposite of what we set out to do. But this is important and it must be done."

Tony looks at him. His gaze is unflinching. "They want you to stay in the O.R. beside him."

Sam brushes away the wetness at the corner of his eyes and says to Tony, "I figured."

"Talk to him," Dr. Lee says. "Don't expect him to talk back. He may not be able to. Last time, we had to put in a mouth guard to keep him from biting his tongue off."

Sam's going to throw up. He really is.

"It's important that you do this, Sam," Tony says. "You hear me? Keep talking to him. Make him respond to you."

"We will set up a curtain," Dr. Nell says. "You can be beside his head. We will try and give you privacy."

"If we're lucky, he will pass out halfway through," Strange adds.

"How's that - "Sam chokes on a sob. "How's that lucky?"

"Would you rather he stay awake through the whole thing? The brain is a magnificent organ, but we are barely beginning to understand it. There's a point after which our pain receptors start signaling the brain to just go to sleep for a while."

"I want to stay with him even if that happens," Sam shudders. "What if he wakes up again and I am not there?"

"You can stay as long as you want."

"Can I see him?" he asks quietly.

"Yes," Tony says. "Game face on, okay? Don't show him how much it hurts you, or he won't let you stay in the room."

"I know, Tony," Sam agrees. "I know."  
  
*  
  
When Sam pushes open the door to Steve's hospital room, he sees him throwing up weakly into a bowl that Wilson's holding out.

"Hey gorgeous," Sam says, unable to recognize his own weak voice. "Saving the world again?"

"Sam!" Steve is pale, his skin shining with sweat. He wipes at his mouth with a towel as Wilson takes the bowl away. "They didn't tell me they were bringing you in."

"Finally," Wilson puts the bowl down, gets up and shakes Sam's hand. "The Sam he actually _wants_ to see."

"That's not true," Steve says, "You are a very good nurse, Falcon."

Sam is determined to not let on how his hands are shaking. "But I am sexier, right? Why are you sitting up, Steven?" Sam scolds, leaning closer to Steve for a kiss. "You should be lying down. They had to pull a medieval weapon out of you."

"Ugh, don't," Steve pushes him away from the kiss. "I am gross. I just threw up."

Sam takes a hold of that stubborn chin in his hand, holds him in place and presses a firm kiss to his dry lips. "Our deal was for you to come back without a scratch on you."

"I am fine," Steve says confidently, but he sounds exhausted. "Tony's worrying about nothing."

" _Tony_ just built a state of the art metal detector for a metal that's not found anywhere on earth," Tony grumbles. "Tony would like some goddamn credit."

"Yes, Tony, you're brilliant, Tony, what would we all do without you Tony," Steve narrates in a flat voice, but Sam can see the amusement in his eyes.

But Steve looks - _wrong_. Miserable. Thinner. Is that even possible?

"Laugh it up, capsicle," Tony snarks back but it lacks his usual bite. He's worried and trying not to show it.

"Did we hear from Thor?" Steve asks Tony.

"Portal's closed," Tony says, "Fury just put him on a jet with Jane Foster. They should be here in about.. ten hours?"

"Casualties?"

"Twenty three civilian," Tony says. "They couldn't evacuate quickly enough."

"They tell me you need surgery again," Sam asks Steve. "How are you feeling?"

"I am okay, Sam," he smiles, but it isn't reaching his eyes. "I'll be fine. How was Camp David?"

"CJ and Toby were building a blanket fort when I left," Sam sits down beside him on the bed, taking his hand. "I finished the speech."

"You did?" Steve gives him a bright smile. "I can't wait to hear it."

"You need to stop getting stabbed," Sam says instead. "No stabbings. I am putting my foot down."

"I'll do my best," Steve says, making a moue. "Tell me you didn't watch -"

"CJ blindfolded me."

Steve looks thoughtful for an instant. "Damn it, didn't say you couldn't _listen_ to it."

"Loopholes are everything in politics, Rogers," Sam laughs. "I taught you better than that."

"Why did they drag you in here?"

Sam turns around to give Tony a meaningful look. Tony, who isn't a genius for nothing, immediately makes for the door with Wilson and shuts it quietly behind himself.

Now that they are alone, Sam presses closer to Steve on the bed, taking his bandaged hand. Steve's dressed in a hospital gown, and he looks pale and sickly. Sam reaches for the bowl again, just in time for Steve to throw up noisily into it. It's mostly blood.

"I hate hospitals," Steve mutters, not looking at Sam.

"I know," Sam takes the bowl away, grabbing a clean looking towel from the crash cart and wiping Steve's face. "Baby, look at me."

His pupils are blown wide, he looks tired.

"You were incredible in the battle today," Sam says instead of the dozen other things he wants to say.

"You didn't watch it."

"Didn't need to," Sam argues. "You led your team against an army and won. Though we will be having words about why you had to take on amulet guy alone."

"Well, I could've sent Tony and tried to close the portal by myself," Steve lies back against the pillow, his hand still in Sam's, "if we had enough time for me to get a degree in interdimensional astrophysics."

"So _t_ _hat's_ why Jane was in China with Thor," Sam says, the realization hitting too late.

"You were going to use that as an argument to let you come with me on missions, weren't you?" Steve lifts Sam's hand to his mouth and kisses the back of his palm. Sam uses the other hand to push Steve's hair off his forehead.

"Maybe," Sam admits.

"You didn't answer my question. Why did they drag you out here?"

Sam considers being direct with his boyfriend and then rejects it as a stupid idea. "Steve Rogers, they didn't drag me out here. I threw a tantrum and got on a helicopter."

"Sam," Steve raises a disbelieving eyebrow at him.

"What? You don't think I have it in me to be a rebel? Maybe CJ helped me commandeer a Secret Service chopper."

"Sam."

"Okay, so maybe they brought me here, but I wanted to come. Steve, do you remember the last time we made love?"

"Four weeks and two days," Steve grimaces. "But who's counting, right?"

Right to the date, Sam thinks. "And do you know the last time the two of us had a date?"

Sam climbs on to the bed, plastering himself to Steve's right side, resting his head on a hand. Steve blinks slowly and stares up at him. "Okay, so maybe I don't remember that one."

"Never, Steve! We haven't sat down and had a meal together since the time I brought you chicken salad at lunch."

"That was... weeks ago."

"That was two months ago."

"Right. That photo was trending then."

"So this is going to be our date, okay?" Sam says vehemently. "Because at this rate, it's becoming pretty clear that I would have to tie one of us down to actually have a conversation. Dr. Strange told me that part's going to taken care of, so I can sit beside you and just chat."

Sam sees Steve think it over, see him putting the pieces together. "They want you to distract me."

"I want to tell you about the dumb thing Josh did this week before aliens invaded," Sam lies. "Secret plan to fight inflation."

"Who's secret plan?"

"The President's, but not really. You have to listen to the full story to really understand it."

"I am a frequent patron to a place that charges five bucks for a cup of coffee," Steve laughs. "I think I am all for a plan to fight inflation."

"Well, Josh made it up."

"That's not good," Steve says, but asks questioningly, "Right?"

"It _is_ frowned upon to lie to the White House press corps."

"You don't say."

"See? This is the kind of scintillating date conversation we can have in the O.R.," Sam pulls Steve closer to his own body, letting his bury his face in his neck.

"Not sure how much I would be able to contribute."

He sounds small and scared and so unlike himself that it makes Sam want to just hold on tight and not let them wheel him into the operating room. Steve shouldn't sound like that.

"Please," Sam says softly, blinking away unbidden wetness in his eyes, "I am a communications guy. I can do enough talking for the both of us."

"Sam," Steve whispers against Sam's neck. "It won't be pretty."

"Do you trust that I love you?"

"I do."

"Then I don't understand why you thought you had to go through this alone."

Steve is silent, so Sam runs a hand through his hair.

"Steve," he says quietly. "It's okay to be scared. Baby, I would be seriously worried if you weren't scared."

"Hated it last time," Steve mumbles, and it's so quietly said that the only reason Sam even heard it cause he's holding him so close.

"After Insight?"

"I was worried about Bucky," Steve admits. "I was dying to just get outta there and find him. But it still.."

"It still what, Steve? Honey, are you seriously upset that you have to be _human_ for a while?"

"No."

"It still what, Steve?"

"It still _hurt_."

Sam's neck is wet. Steve is crying against his skin. Sam pulls him into his arms, holding him tight.

"Baby," Sam says into Steve's hair. "It's going to be okay."

"Didn't tell me. Erskine. There's so much we should have discussed. He said he would talk to me after the procedure."

"You liked him," Sam rolls Steve's body on top of him to avoid putting weight on his injury. Steve rolls with him, rag as a limp doll, his face still buried in Sam's neck.

"He was the first person after Bucky and my Ma who believed in me."

"And you guys never had that conversation," Sam says. "He didn't tell you that most drugs wouldn't work on you."

"Don't think he _knew_."

"You know, Natasha told me you jumped out of an elevator that was twenty-one floors up. Landed on a hard concrete floor. Heard that you broke the concrete."

"Why's Nat telling you this stuff?"

"Cause Josh won't let me read the Sit room briefings. It probably hurt, right? Jumping through all that glass?"

"It was the landing that really hurt."

"I figured. But you walked it off, right, baby?"

"Right."

"And you didn't even have your hot boyfriend to tell you stories about Josh Lyman in your ear."

"That would have improved the whole being a fugitive from the government thing."

"The President is so very sorry about that."

"So he said. He offered to let me marry one of his daughters."

"He did what?"

"Don't get possessive, he was joking."

"What the - I am not possessive."

"Phil says you've scared off half the rookie agents."

"The blonde one groped you!"

"We were sparring."

"Sure you were. Fine, marry Zoey Bartlet. See if I care."

"She's like fourteen!" Steve looks up from Sam's neck to give him a peck on his cheek. "Besides, I am a one-man man."

"I really hope I am the one-man, or else we're going to have a conversation, Steve."

"Hey," Steve says quietly, making Sam look at him properly. "I love you."

"I love you too. You can do this, okay? I am going to call Dr. Lee in here and we're going to get you prepped. I will be right there beside you the whole time."

"You don't have to be."

"Steve, honesty time. Do you actually _want_ me to leave?"

For a fraction of a moment, Steve looks like he's going to say yes. But Sam glares at him hard enough to make him huff and give in. "Please don't leave me."

"Good boy," he kisses him on the forehead. "See, was that really so hard?"

"It kinda was."

"Okay, I am going to be right back with Dr. Lee. You stay here and try not to pick out a Bartlet daughter."

He rolls Steve onto his back on the bed and extricates himself gently, dropping one last kiss to his forehead before making for the door.  
  
*  
  
Outside Steve's room, Tony and Wilson are practically bouncing on the balls of their feet. Sam makes sure the door's clicked before he slides down to the floor, putting his head in his hands.

"That bad, huh?" Tony asks.

"That, in there, is the bravest, the noblest, the kindest man on this planet and he can have anything he asks for, okay?"

"Seaborn -"

"Tell Dr.Lee," Sam says. "Let's prep him. I am going to be with him. I also need to talk to Strange."

"Why?"

"I want him to leave out Steve's left hand when he's paralyzing him."

"Hand-holding," Wilson smiles. "You two are really just so sweet sometimes."

"Stark," Sam looks up from his hands. "You tell Dr.Lee he's not going to spend even one second longer in that operating room than he absolutely needs to."

"They're the best surgeons in the country," Stark promises. "They will be as quick as they possibly can."

"Thank you."

"Sam," Stark's voice is gentle. "Are you okay?"

"Me?" Sam laughs, nearly hysterical with it. "My boyfriend's about to be cut open without anesthesia. I am going to pretend to tell him fluffy stories from the White House to try and distract him from mind-numbing pain. I am just perfect, Stark."

Stark looks at him for an instant, and then says, "Hold out your hands."

"What?"

"Just do it."

Sam extends his hands. Stark pulls a couple of wrist bands from his pocket and slips them on Sam's wrists.

"I had these in traction for Pepper when she was still trying to control Extremis," he says. "But this should work for this too."

"Work for what?"

"You are planning to hold a super soldier's hand while he's going to be in excruciating pain," Wilson remarks, crossing his arms over his chest. "Take the gauntlets, Sam."

"You pull this elastic down, the gauntlets will cover down to your fingers," Stark explains.

"I don't really think this is necessary."

"Do you really want Steve to live with the fact that he broke your hand while he was in pain?"

Sam groans, but gives in. "Fine. Now, will you get Dr.Lee?"

Wilson shoots off a smart salute and practically runs down the hallway. Sam turns to Tony again. "Can I borrow your phone?"

Tony hands it over with a questioning look. Sam scrolls down the call log and finds the last dialed contact. "Sweetheart?" Pepper's quiet voice asks down the line.

"Hey Pepper, it's Sam," Sam says, waving off Tony's indignant attempt to snatch the phone back.

"Sam? You're calling from Tony's phone. Is he -"

"He's okay, Pepper. He is not in any danger. Are you on your way here?"

"I am in the car," Pepper answers. "They shut down all air traffic around DC so I am driving down. Should be there in a couple of hours, tops. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Sam assures her, still pushing Tony off of him. "Wanted to give you the lay of the land because I know none of these bozos will."

"God, it's nice having someone _sane_ around the Avengers. It was starting to get lonely."

"I get that. So listen, they're wheeling Steve to surgery right now. I am going to be with him. Thought you should know that Tony's got a couple of fractures in his hand. Hell of a shiner on his cheek. He got first-aid, but you should drag him for a follow up when you're here."

"I will, thank you."

"He's been taking care of everyone else since the battle," Sam points out. Tony just slumps against the wall again like his strings have been cut. "From what I understand, he's just rigged together a new scanner that they need to use during the procedure for Steve. I would bet he's the one who got Natasha to accept medical treatment as well. The rest of the team is either incapacitated or sleeping. Coulson's still handling clean up. Barton's on Barnes duty. Thor is still hours out."

"So Tony's been holding everyone up."

"Basically, yes," Sam agrees. "And I bet he's been awake for far longer, if we count all the work they were doing getting ready for the battle. Will you come and take over for him? Get a meal into him, and maybe make him get some rest?"

"You got it."

"I would march him down to the cafeteria and force-feed a sandwich down his throat but I frankly have no energy for anything other than Steve right now. I am sorry about that," Sam confesses, feeling ashamed. "But I am glad to hear you will be here in a couple of hours to take over."

"Happy's driving, so it will be more like an hour and a half."

"Oh perfect, tell Hap I said hey."

"You focus on Steve, Sam," Pepper says kindly. "And I'll call Wilson and make him sit on Tony until I get there."

"How did you people land Sam Wilson anyway?" Sam asks, genuinely curious. "He's too sensible to be caught up with these idiots."

"I think Steve stalked him around the National Mall and flirted with him badly until he agreed to commit treason for Captain America."

"Steve IS rather persuasive," Sam agrees, thanking the universe for making Sam Wilson straight as an arrow.

"I'll handle the rest, Sam," Pepper states plainly. "You go be with Steve."

"Thanks, Pepper, I will see you soon," he hangs up and hands the phone back to Tony.

"You could have just said ' _thank you Tony_ ', you know?"

"The last time Steve tried to thank you for something, you picked a fight and the two of you brawled it out in the middle of his birthday party," Sam points out. "You're allergic to feelings. I don't have that kind of time right now, so have fun dealing with Pepper."

"I think I get what he sees in you," Tony smiles at him. "Go. It's time."

*  
  
They make Sam scrub in, but Lisa the scrub nurse lets him leave the mask off.

"Once we get the metal out," Dr. Nell explains to him outside the operating room, "we treat him for radiation poisoning. The serum should - hopefully - take care of the rest."

"Okay," Sam says, grateful for a clear plan of action. Surgery now. Treatment later.

"Keep talking to him," Dr. Lee says. "We won't say anything about what we're doing. He kept wanting to know last time but all that did was spike up his blood pressure. I would rather he focused on you instead of knowing every step of what we were doing."

Sam nods and steps inside the operating room.

Steve is strapped down on the table already, Strange standing beside him making colorful patterns in the air with his hands.

"Why can't you just numb him with magic?" Sam asks, hoping for a quick fix solution but knowing deep down that they probably ruled it out already.

"It's dangerous to mix medicinal sorcery with this kind of energy."

"Energy?"

"The metal is putting out toxic radiation," Strange explains. "I have encountered it before. It would nullify anything I did with spells or a healing talisman. Only way around is through."

Sighing in defeat, Sam walks around the operating table and sits down on the chair Lisa set up beside his head. "Hey, you."

"Hey," Steve says. Someone's put a surgical cap over his hair. It has little Captain America shields on it. It's the cutest thing Sam's ever seen. He takes Steve's hand in his. "Okay, do your worst, Stephen."

Strange drags a little screen-like contraption from the corner. It's just a couple of poles a few feet apart, with a curtain of green scrub cloth hanging between them.

Strange maneuvers them on their wheels so that the poles are positioned on either side of the operating table. The screen falls level with Steve's chest. Perfect to cut off both Steve and Sam's sightlines to whatever's happening at Steve's abdomen.

The surgeons, Sam understands, will work on the other side of that screen, leaving him to remain in his bubble with Steve.

"Don't interrupt me for a few minutes," Strange says and closes his eyes, moving his hands in beautiful patterns over Steve's chest. "Don't move, Steve."

Dr. Lee and Nell are still outside, getting ready. The O.R. is active, with Lisa and her team working around them to set up.

"They're beautiful to look at, right?" Sam whispers to Steve, watching the patterns dance in the air. "Don't nod. No moving, he said."

They wait in silence while Strange runs through the strange shapes he is making in the air. "Okay," Strange finally steps away. "Steve, try to move your right hand."

A beat.

"I - can't," Steve's eyes are wide, his eyebrows climbing. "I can't move anything."

Sam takes his left hand, "Except this hand, right?"

"And my head," Steve cranes up his neck, trying to lift off the table. Realizing he can't move any more than that, he lets his neck drop, resting his head against the table. "It's.. strange."

"It's the dream date scenario," Sam chuckles even though he is feeling no humor at all in the situation. "Can't run out on me this time, Rogers. Even if aliens invade."

Steve grimaces at him, still clearly uncomfortable at being paralyzed. Strange gestures at the heart rate monitor beeping on the other side of Steve's head.

"Steve, honey," Sam rubs his thumb in circles against the soft skin of Steve's hand. "Focus on me. Remember that time I finally got you to agree to watch Princess Bride and then you had to leave cause Banner hulked out by accident?"

"Assemble call," Steve murmurs, his skin very clammy against Sam's hand. The number on the monitor is climbing down, though, so Sam continues the conversation.

"It's always an Assemble call with you," Sam says fondly. "Can't go anywhere now, Steve. Best date ever."

"You're - a cheap date if this is your idea of romantic."

"Baby, I will be the cheapest date if I just get to have you. I don't need anything else."

Strange quietly leaves them to it, nodding at Sam in a parting gesture. Steve, still testing the limits of his motion, doesn't seem to have noticed.

"Steve," Sam tries again. "Princess Bride. We have to watch it when we get back home after all this is done."

"Dunno if - we may have to stay at the hospital for a while."

"Then we will watch it at the hospital, baby," Sam promises. "They're going to treat you for radiation poisoning."

"Is that why I am puking blood?"

"Dr. Lee thinks so," Sam agrees, watching Steve's eyes trace the movements of the surgeons as they enter the room.

"Captain Rogers," Dr. Lee comes up on Sam's other side. "We're going to begin now. Please do what you need to. We have cleared the entire floor."

Sam hears what he's really saying. _You can scream if you need to._

"We will be in and out as soon as we can, okay?"

Steve nods, his hand tightening around Sam's.

Sam uses his other hand to tilt Steve’s chin back to his side, to keep Steve facing him and not on what Dr. Lee is saying to his staff.

“Look at me, gorgeous,” Sam murmurs. “We’re alone, yeah? You and me. When was the last time we sat down together and just talked?”

“Before you started writing the State of the Union,” Steve answers, his eyes soft and watery as he stares up at Sam’s face. “Take off your glasses.”

Sam does, folding them and setting them on the floor beside his feet.

“You have such pretty eyes,” Steve breathes.

Sam sees Tony in the periphery, wheeling a large C-arm scanner inside. Sam turns away to focus only on Steve.

“You’re the pretty one,” Sam accuses. “Got half of SHIELD and the First Family ready to snatch you up if I turn my back. It’s very stressful.”

“Think Bucky would threaten them with a cavity search if they tried to kiss me?” Steve asks.

“I think Bucky would kill anyone who tried to kiss you,” Sam laughs. “He’s only _just_ starting to like me.”

“Is he -?”

“I didn’t see him,” Sam admits. “But Tony said he was sleeping it off. Barton’s with them. Plus, I sicced Pepper on the whole lot of them. She’ll be here in a bit.”

“Good,” Steve closes his eyes. “Bucky’s scared of her.”

Sam can feel the moment Dr. Lee makes the first incision. Steve stiffens, his hold on Sam’s hand tightening to the point of painful. Sam would pull the elastic and release the gauntlet, but he doesn’t want to remove his hand from Steve’s right now.

“Hey, baby, look at me,” Sam says. Anything to remove that look from Steve’s face right now. “It’s not all your fault, you know that right?”

“Hmm?”

“The missed dates. The lack of sex. The fact that we haven’t seen each other in months. It’s not all down to Avenging.”

“I know.”

“I am sorry I have been so busy,” Sam acknowledges. Steve bites down on his tongue hard, a pained gasp escaping even though Sam can see he’s doing his best to hold it in. Sam feels utterly and completely _helpless_.

“Steve,” he speaks again, a little louder, his free hand tracing Steve’s bottom lip with a finger. Steve stops biting down, relaxing his mouth, letting it fall open, the whimper of pain ringing in the near-silent room.

There’s a small clink from behind the screen. Something metal dropping into a tray.

Dr. Lee is keeping his word. They’re working fast.

“Steve,” Sam leans down and presses a kiss to Steve’s open mouth. “Look at me. I am sorry the speech has kept me busy. Then there was the legislative affairs thing with Congressman Warcox. Josh was held up in budget meetings, so it fell to me to do that even though I rarely handle policy. I spent the whole time you were fighting Nazis worried sick, but once you got out safe, I couldn’t call you.”

Steve’s grip is painful against his skin.

Sam doesn’t think Steve’s even hearing him anymore.

The scrub nurse - Lisa, Sam remembers her name - walks around him to fiddle with one of the dials on a monitor behind them.

Her name is Lisa.

Steve’s face is pale, and he is biting down on his lip again.

“I was engaged once,” Sam says, desperate to say anything. Anything big enough to make Steve focus on him instead of the wrecking pain he's being subjected to. “Engaged to be married. Her name was Lisa Sherborne.”

Slowly, so very slowly that Sam can see Steve turn his head the barest of an inch, Steve relaxes his hold on Sam’s hand.

“En - engaged?” Steve’s voice is a hoarse whisper.

Sam pulls the elastic on the bands at his wrists. Red and gold armor cover his hands, surrounding his fingers, the weight a pleasant hum against his skin. He takes Steve’s hand again.

“You can squeeze as hard as you want, okay?” Sam says. “And yes. Lisa’s a reporter. She works with Vanity Fair now.”

“You were going to marry her?”

“I was,” Sam admits. “I was in love with her.”

“How long -” Steve breaks off at the tail end of that question, sacrificing words to let out a loud, messy sob of pain. The first teardrop of the day makes its way out of the corner of his left eye, traveling down his skin into the Captain America shields cap.

“We were together for a year and a half before I proposed,” Sam says. “I was working with a law firm in New York.”

“Wo - worst time to t - ttt.. tell me this,” Steve mumbles.

“No,” Sam says. “Worst time to tell you would have been during sex," Sam laughs, _"hey honey, harder, right there. By the way, I used to be engaged.”_

“You are terrible,” the stress lines around Steve’s eyes are relaxing just a little. “So what happened?”

“Josh came and found me.”

The operating table jerks with whatever Dr. Lee is doing. Steve yells out. Sam wipes off the tears streaming down to his temples, ignoring the way Steve is squeezing his hand, even through the armor. Beyond the screen, there’s whispered muted conversation. The C-arm scanner whirrs, and there’s more _chink-chink-chink_ of metal.

“Josh came and found me,” Sam says loudly. “I was defending this company - they were buying a boat and I had to set up this liability shield - doesn't matter. I had worked very hard to get where I was, and then one day, I turned around and realized that I had basically been helping polluters get away with flouting EPA norms.”

“Doesn’t -” Steve’s breathing is really haggard now, “sound like - you.”

“Josh had gone all the way to New Hampshire to hear this upstart governor speak,” Sam continues, pulling off Steve’s cap so he can run his hands through his blonde hair. “He had found the real thing, you see.”

“Real thing?”

“I had gotten disillusioned with politics,” Sam admits. “I had worked in Washington before, but I wasn’t like Josh. I couldn’t stand all the partisan mudslinging. I had told him I would come back if he found me a candidate really worth standing by.”

“The President?”

“He was the Governor of New Hampshire then,” Sam says. “Josh came back and told me, this was the guy. I believed him. Quit my job, told Lisa we needed to postpone the wedding, and went off to run a campaign for a guy I had never met.”

“B - bet she loved that.”

“It started like that,” Sam says. “Little things. Then I got busy. Missed dates. Forgot about dates. I didn’t even realize when I stood her up. We talked less and less until one day the ring I gave her is back in the jewel case and she’s got packed boxes in the apartment.”

“Ohh.”

“Don’t you have anything more to say than _oh_?”

“You’re - scared. That it would be us.”

“I am terrified by how surely I know - that would never be us. Cause there’s a difference, Steve. Even when I am working myself to death, I am missing you every minute. It was never like that with her.”

Steve’s gaze becomes soft around the edges, even if he is grimacing every few seconds in pain.

“So that will never - ohh - never be us?”

“I am here as long as you will have me around.”

“But?”

“But I - this is me apologizing,” Sam says honestly. “I am sorry I have been kinda taking you for granted. I am not promising my schedule will get better, but I will do better about making time.”

Steve turns his face to the side to cough. Sam uses the cuff of his shirt to wipe his mouth. The sleeve comes away red.

“We -” Steve groans. “We’ve got to - start having these conversations when one of us isn’t in a hospital.”

“Preferably with some sex afterward,” Sam smiles.

Dr. Lee calls his name. “Sam,” he says from behind the curtain. “Brace.”

He’s barely had the wherewithal to pull his hand back from Steve’s hair when he screams, a scream of utter agony. Sam holds on to Steve’s hand, lets him clench and shout and cry -

“It’s okay, baby,” Sam maybe in shock, he doesn’t know what he is saying, he just wants to never ever hear Steve scream like that again, “It will be over in a minute.”

It isn’t, though.

Steve’s screaming, and it doesn’t end. Sam thinks it may never, ever end.

“WHY IS IT TAKING SO LONG,” Sam shouts across the screen.

Lisa hands him a fresh bowl. Sam takes it just in time for Steve to cough up more blood, trying to hold him in place, his head is thrashing against the solid surface of the table, but he’s still screaming.

“We’re going as fast as we can, Sam,” Dr. Nell says back. “Another forty seconds.”

Sam watches the clock on the opposite wall, watches the second hand tick. _Thirty eight, thirty seven, thirty six…_

Steve is still screaming. Sam can’t feel his own right hand anymore.

“Steve,” Sam tries. “STEVE!”

He gets up off the chair, his hand still tingling painfully. He leans over Steve’s prone form, his mouth open, the room filled with horrifying, gut-wrenching cries of pain. Sam leans over and puts his mouth over Steve’s, muffling it, letting Steve cry into him instead, letting Steve sob and shake against his lips -

“I am here,” he whispers against Steve’s dry, chapped mouth. “Focus on me. We will get through this. I am right here. Remember how I said I’d blow you in the Roosevelt Room?”

Steve Rogers, it turns out, can be out of his mind with pain _and still_ get beautifully embarrassed if he thinks strangers can hear them discuss their sex life.

“That’s right,” Sam continues. “Think about that. Think about how we’re going to get out of this operating room, how I am going to let you sleep for days, and then I will take you home and feed you everything you could possibly eat to get your weight back up. And then, I will take you to bed.”

“Speech,” Steve murmurs, but Sam’s counting this as a win. Sam’s counting this as a win because Steve isn’t screaming anymore, Steve is under him, panting and clammy and sweaty and shaking, but he isn’t screaming anymore.

“Screw the speech,” Sam swears. “Toby is a better writer than me anyway. I am sure he will manage.”

“Tell - telling ‘im you said that.”

“Barnes told me you wanted to go to the Grand Canyon,” Sam says, changing the subject. “You promised him, right? When you were kids. Guess it’s road trip time the minute Dr. Lee clears you.”

“Hmmm.”

“You, me and Barnes,” Sam promises. “We’ll stay at one of those cheesy motels that have a theme. Gotta let Barnes do his perimeter checks a couple of times during the night, but it will be worth it if we can get him in a costume and take pictures, right?”

“Bu - blackmail.”

“Totally,” Sam agrees, still leaning over the table, brushing Steve’s hair back, pressing their foreheads together. “I work in politics, Steve. Blackmail material is our operating currency. Besides, I keep thinking we need to set Barnes up with a nice girl.”

“N - not Donna.”

“You and your overprotective brother thing with Donna,” Sam rolls his eyes. “Besides, her type is rumpled clothes and a receding hairline.”

“Hopeless.”

“I know,” Sam nods. “Okay, so who do we set Bucky up with?”

“Nat - Natasha.”

Sam considers that. “Huh. Makes sense, in a weird kind of way.”

“Yeah,” he says, biting down on a whimper of pain.

Dr. Lee calls out, “Four minutes.”

“I am timing you this time!” Sam yells back.

“Four minutes and we’re done,” Dr. Lee clarifies. “Closing up.”

Oh thank God.

“Why Natasha?” Sam asks. “Hey Steve, look at me. Why Natasha?”

“She thinks he’s cute,” he says through gritted teeth. There’s some blood dripping out of the side of his mouth. He probably bit through the inside of his cheek when he was screaming.

“He is,” Sam agrees, thrilling with pleasure when Steve glares at him. “But I think this is just a pretext for you to get back at her for all those dates she tried to set you up on.”

“You still talk to her?” Steve asks, and Sam knows he doesn’t mean Natasha.

“Lisa?” He asks. Steve swallows, but nods. “Not since she left. I don’t even know what I would say. Or if I even want to say anything. It’s in the past, Steve. She’s the past. You’re my future.”

“Mm glad you told me.”

“Me too, baby,” Sam agrees. “You realize that I am going to grill you about all your exes too, right?”

“‘Tis only two.”

“Peggy and?”

“Arnie Roth,” Steve says, but he looks much calmer now. Sam tries not think about how the surgeon is probably stitching him up right now. “Buck hated him.”

“You had a boyfriend back in the forties?”

“No Sam,” Steve smiles. “Clearly, queer people didn’t exist before the year two thousand and fifteen.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Was he cute?”

“Very,” Steve answers. “He lived in our tenement complex. Used to wear suspenders.”

“I wear suspenders!”  
  
“Very cute.” Steve mumbles, his eyes closing. “When you’re jealous.”

Then he starts laughing.

“Steve?”

More laughter. Steve's head is thrown back against the table, his jaw open and he's just laughing.

“Doc? He’s laughing.”

“The adrenaline crash,” Dr.Lee calls. “His vitals are holding. Nothing alarming, but it’s normal. Body’s learning that the pain is lessening. We’re done. The stitches may pop out on their own when his flesh heals, but we're going to monitor him for a bit.”

“Did you get it all?”

“Yes,” Dr. Lee pulls the screen aside. Sam tries not to stare at Steve’s stitched up wounds. “We are going to secure the metal pieces we recovered. If Stark wants to study the radiation effects, he can.”

"You're sure you got it all?"

"Absolutely," Dr. Lee says, dragging the monitor closer to him. "His vitals are improving already. You did well with him. He was a lot more agitated when we tried this after Insight."

“Will Steve be okay?”

“The signs are encouraging. His tissue started healing around it the minute we pulled out the pieces. Now it’s only a case of letting the serum do the rest. I would be very surprised if we even end up treating him for radiation sickness. That serum really is something.”

 _That serum caused him to endure surgery without anesthesia_ , Sam doesn’t say.

"What's next?"

"Rest," Dr. Lee shrugs off his gloves. "As much as we can give him. I am not ready to discharge him until the stitches pop. His body needs sleep for the serum to do its work. We'll ensure he gets nutrients via an IV. But sleep is going to be the miracle worker."

“I think he’s fallen asleep already,” Sam says, staring at Steve’s closed eyes.

“Not sssleep.”

“Steve?”

Steve laughs, his mouth crinkling, and when his eyes open, they seem distant. “Lisa Sherborne Seaborn,” he laughs again, cracking himself up. “Terrible name. Good thing you didn't marry ‘er.”

“Yeah,” Sam says quietly, the sense of relief overwhelming. “Good thing indeed.”

~

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilery warning: Steve is hurt, and he needs surgery. Due to the serum, they can't keep him under with anesthesia. He would just keep waking up on the table, so they opt to do the surgery without anesthesia. Sam hates the idea, but stays with him during the surgery. Everything works out okay. There in no on-screen gore.
> 
> Things I am not an expert on:  
> White House security procedures.  
> Whether you can land a chopper that's NOT Marine One on the South Lawn.  
> How radiograms work.  
> Symptoms of radiation sickness.  
> How to treat radiation sickness.  
> Anything remotely associated with surgery, medicine, or alien metal.  
>  _None of this is medical advice, I know nothing about treating people for illnesses._
> 
> Comments are loved! Come say hi on [tumblr.](https://baffledkingcomposinghallelujah.tumblr.com/)


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